


To Prove Her Point

by reellifejaneway



Series: Kathea Hawke [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Act 3, Angsty Schmoop, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Jealousy, Loneliness, Male-Female Friendship, Platonic Kissing, Showing Off, Snarky Hawke, Surprise Kissing, Wicked Grace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-17 23:56:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3548402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reellifejaneway/pseuds/reellifejaneway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kathea Hawke has spent the past three years living under the oppression of Fenris’ burning stare. If even watching her dual the Arishok wasn’t enough to spur the brooding elf into action, then perhaps a more radical plan will have the desired effect. And Hawke knows exactly who to recruit to make him jealous. Enter the handsome, and utterly unsuspecting, Knight-Captain Cullen.</p><p>…But will Hawke’s scheme work?</p><p>Fenris and the world of Thedas all belong to Bioware. Kathea Hawke in all her craziness belongs to me. I’m just a fangirl who can’t let go…</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Prove Her Point

**Author's Note:**

> My not-quite-canon explanation for how Hawke and Fenris begin to reconcile their relationship at the beginning of Act 3. Possible sequel to follow! As always comments and kudos are appreciated. Let me know if you want to see that sequel ;)

“Cullen, a word with you.”

“Of course, Champion,” the Templar coughed to clear his throat, turning to see the tall, lean figure of Hawke striding toward him. “What can I do for you?”

“Can we talk somewhere more…” the redhead glanced from side to side, “private?”

“What?” Cullen’s brow furrowed. “Well, yes I suppose so—”

“Good.” Hawke’s claw-like gloves wrapped around his armoured bicep then, almost forcibly dragging him behind one of the sheltering pillars that loomed over the Gallows’ courtyard. Her golden eyes were panicked, almost _wild_ , and the look she gave as she pinned him against the pillar was terrifying.

Cullen held up his hands in protest when she released him. “I don’t know what this is about, Serrah Hawke, but I really don’t—”

“I need a favour!” Kathea blurted, her expression turning apologetic. “Look, I’m sorry for dragging you off like this but I _really_ need help and I couldn’t think of anyone else to turn to.”

The Knight-Commander folded his arms and studied her pensively. “Don’t you have an entourage for this sort of thing?”

Hawke’s deadpan expression told him to shut up, so Cullen wisely did.

“Let’s just say, it’s a little… well… sensitive.” Kathea shifted from foot to foot. “And… And if you’re uncomfortable with me, please say so now.”

Cullen fumbled, “I, uh, no. Not at all. I mean, uh… I’m not uncomfortable with you, Hawke.”

“Okay because I really need you to let me know now – do… do you think I’m attractive?”

“What?” Cullen practically choked.

Kathea waved her hands dismissively, “No, no, no that is not quite what I mean – I’m asking if you think I look nice. That’s all, truly.”

He backed up further against the pillar, his own eyes narrowing and studying her apprehensively. “Maker’s breath, Hawke. What exactly are you asking of me?”

The redhead was growing more exasperated by the second. “I don’t want to _marry_ you if that’s what you’re thinking! I just need to use you—”

Cullen held up a hand to silence her. “No, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know.”

“Please just listen!” Hawke was panicking now. “This means a lot to me. I really do need you to help me out and I don’t trust any other man I know to do this because… Well. The only other men I’m friends with are either going to misconstrue my actions _terribly_ or nobody will believe their overly-flamboyant acting.”

Cullen just blinked at her.

“Look, will you trust me? Just this once?”

The templar sighed wearily, “Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

He was sure that he was blushing up to the roots of his hair by that point. But Cullen had to admit, part of him was intrigued. “I’m sure.”

“Good,” Kathea repeated, pacing in front of him and taking deep breaths. Occasionally the redhead peeked out from the shadows, those bright eyes of hers sweeping the courtyard suspiciously.

_Is she hiding from someone?_

“Can you meet me at the Hanged Man tonight?”

“W-why?”

“I need to prove a point,” Kathea murmured cryptically. When he didn’t respond, she insisted, “Please Cullen, you’re the only one I trust to do this and you owe me a favour! Remember?”

“Maker,” Cullen rubbed his forehead, “maybe I should find out what this favour involves ahead of time…?”

“Just be there, dress casual and uh,” Hawke paused, biting her lip, “and pretend you’re enjoying yourself, okay?”

“ _Enjoying_ myself—!” He spluttered, his cheeks burning red.

“Thank you, Cullen!” She gave him a peck on the cheek and flashed an impish – and slightly self-conscious – grin in his direction. Then, with a quick glance at the courtyard, Hawke sprinted past him and abruptly vanished into the crowd.

Cullen blinked, rubbing at his eyes. Was his head spinning at the prospect of meeting the rogue’s enigmatic appeal, or from his own disorientation? He had no idea. But despite his own inhibitions, something inside him niggled at him – and dared him to turn up at the Hanged Man regardless.

Turning the idea over in his mind as he sauntered back to his post, the Templar muttered, “Enjoy myself? What in the void are you going on about, Hawke?”

 

* * *

 

 

“Your turn to deal, Chuckles.”

Kathea held out one upturned palm in acceptance. “Alright, who’s in?”

Merrill’s hand shot up instantly. “Me!”

“Deal, kitten.” Isabella waved for another pint of ale.

Aveline finished the contents of her flagon, plunked it down on the rickety table and pulled on her gloves. “Wish I could, Hawke. I’ve got business to attend to at the barracks.”

The rest of the group instantly began whistling, protesting and moaning abysmally all at once.

“Well don’t I feel loved?” Aveline arched one slender brow in Hawke’s direction. “I’ll see you tomorrow for that patrol?”

“I thought we both agreed you wouldn’t see anything,” Kathea grinned.

The Guard Captain chuckled. “Somebody has to keep you on your toes, Hawke.”

“Stop her from getting soft beneath that Champion’s armour of hers,” Varric interjected with a wink. “Though I’m pretty sure you’re too late for that.”

That earned him a kick to the shin. Varric pouted and Kathea laughed.

“Alright people, bets start at ten silvers, to raise is five coppers and no, Isabela, this is _not_ a strip round.”

Everyone at the table laughed except for Isabela, who looked wounded. “You really are a mood-killer, Hawke.”

Anders slid into the seat next to Kathea just then, that lopsided smile never far from his cheeks. “Not too late to join the round I hope?” He leaned in strategically as she slid five cards in his direction.

Rolling her eyes, Kathea shot a knowing look in Varric’s direction. The dwarf simply shrugged.

Turning to face the mage beside her, Hawke smiled and quipped, “Not at all. Just remember to keep your eyes away from my hand.”

“And other parts,” Isabela murmured.

Merrill turned all shades of pink at that one. “Creators, I’m sure I never know where to look when you say such things.”

“Look at your cards, Daisy,” Varric said, gently tipping her hand back up so her cards weren’t showing. “Just look at the cards.”

The round began quietly, each player scrutinizing their cards and laying down initial bets with solemn consideration. But Kathea found herself growing restless. Between turns she would glance toward the front door, her eyes wandering across the lower room of the Hanged Man in search of that head of shock white hair, that looming figure and the piercing stare that came with it. About halfway through the game, Kathea noted Cullen’s presence at last. The Templar slipped in through the door with a group of off-duty templars, his typical uniform exchanged for a relaxed tunic and breeches. As such, he was nearly unrecognizable save for that wild blond hair of his. He nodded in her direction before taking a seat at one of the tables nearest the stairs.

Kathea breathed a small sigh of relief. At least one half of her plan had bothered to turn up.

Suddenly Varric announced, “I’ll raise you two sovereigns, Chuckles.”

“Oh?” Kathea spun about on the bench, eyes darting to the cards in her hand distractedly. Scrambling to compose herself, she bluffed, “Alright. I’ll wager five sovereigns.”

The conversation around the table turned deathly quiet when Hawke pulled the coins from her purse, letting them fall onto the money pile with a resounding _chink_! All eyes turned expectantly to Varric in an attempt to gauge his reaction to Hawke’s gambit.

“I’m out,” Anders huffed, turning his cards face-down on the table.

Isabela shrugged and followed suit. “Too rich for my blood, kitten.”

The two rogues stared each other down from across the rough table, mahogany and amber irises perfectly calm, unreadable, so perfectly trained in the art of deception that the rest of the room could only hold their breaths and wait.

“Let’s up the stakes,” Kathea decided, leaning forward on her leather-clad forearms. The thick red curls that framed her face swayed gently with the movement. “Ten sovereigns and a bottle of 9:45 Dragon Red.”

By this time it wasn’t just their companions who were watching – it seemed that half the tavern had ground to a halt, numerous eyes drifting up to the balcony above where the game between the author and the Champion was taking place.

Varric let out a low whistle. “You are a cruel woman, Hawke.”

“And you haven’t said whether you are in, or out,” she returned, her face still utterly blank. In a moment of distraction she let her eyes flit rapidly down to the cards in her hand, and then rapidly corrected herself, levelling her gaze at Varric.

If the dwarf caught the slip, he didn’t let on. Instead he glanced calmly down at the cards in his hand, then back at the nonchalant woman opposite him. “You drive a hard bargain, but... I’m in.” He tossed down the coins and tapped his fingers expectantly. “Alright, Hawke. You’ve put your money where your mouth is. Now show us the cards.”

The room was so quiet now that you could have heard a pin drop. All eyes were lifted to the Champion’s face, the spectators on tenterhooks for her response. And that was the exact moment Fenris chose to saunter in the front door, only to stop dead upon the threshold.

Kathea heard him enter. Her gut twisted at the thought of Fenris standing there, watching her through those piercing eyes of his, but she didn’t dare look. Not now.

_Not when I am so close!_

A faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth a fraction of a second before Varric began to comprehend what was happening – what she had already done. The realization hit him when her fingers presented her cards with a practiced flourish. A perfect double-bluff.

“Dragon’s hoard,” Kathea announced proudly, spreading the top-scoring hand on the table before her as though she was unfurling a lace fan. “I believe you owe me a bottle of wine, Varric.”

The room erupted with laughter and applause when the dwarf conceded, standing and clapping her on the back. “Well played, Chuckles. Well played.”

The redhead simply bowed, subtly gathering her winnings. Making her excuses, Hawke slipped away from her friends and into the mingling throng. Having swapped on her Champion’s armour for her set of favourite fur-lined leathers, the rogue blended with the rest of the crowd almost seamlessly. The patrons that did recognize her stepped aside with smiles, raised mugs and murmured congratulations. She acknowledged them all with gentle thanks. She wasn’t exactly one for accolades after all. Padding her way down the rickety tavern stairs, Kathea caught sight of Cullen’s table and made her way over.

_Here goes nothing._

The Templar caught her eye and stood, stepping away from his compatriots even as they raised their flagons in her direction.

“An excellent game, Champ—Hawke,” Cullen corrected himself, appraising her with a kind, perhaps slightly nervous, smile. “I have to admire your skill. Personally I have little aptitude for Wicked Grace.”

“It is not an entirely difficult game,” Kathea laughed. “You simply have to ensure you do not commit to revealing your hand before you are ready.” She saw a flash of white in her periphery then, so she added in a slightly louder tone, “Though perhaps not all of us here are particularly good at judging our own level of commitment.”

Cullen’s brow arched slightly then. He must have seen Fenris skulking because he returned, “Well in that case, I believe you would find me a most willing student, Serrah Hawke. That is,” he was catching onto her game now, “if you have time to teach me?”

 _Maker but you_ are _a fast learner,_ Kathea mused. Smiling, she indicated to a table in the far corner. “For you, Ser Cullen? I will make the time.”

Somewhere to her right Hawke heard a familiar voice growling, the muttered Tevinter curses fusing with the noise of the rabble around them. She smiled to herself at such a promising response, and, allowing Cullen to escort her to their seats, Hawke began to mentally recite the next stages of her plan.

 _Act casual. Don’t stare in Fenris’ direction. And for goodness sake, keep your wits about you._ She took a deep breath through her nose. _As long as there are no glowing fists in anyone’s chests tonight, then it should work out fine._ Exhaling, Hawke shuddered. _I hope._

“Is there anything I can get you, Serrah?”

Coming back to reality, Kathea shot her Templar companion a radiant smile and slid across the padded bench with ease. “Two ales should suit us fine, Norah.”

The hostess nodded in acknowledgement, scurrying to attend to their order and leaving the pair in peace. For the moment anyway.

As Cullen sat down beside her, Kathea offered in a hushed voice, “Last chance to back out.”

He chuckled, amber eyes flashing at her in the warm candlelight. “I wouldn’t have turned up if I wasn’t willing, Hawke.”

“Willing, eh?” She arched one brow, amusement barely in check. “I’m glad to hear it.” Pulling a spare deck of cards from her belt, she began to deal. “Alright. Wicked Grace – no frills, straight cut deck and for the first round at least, all bets are off.” Leaning in fractionally she added, “If you want details you’ll have to ask me later.”

“I’ll remember to do that,” the Templar murmured. “Any instructions?”

“Act natural and follow my lead.” She winked, returning to a normal talking volume. “The rules are simple. Five cards make a hand. Generally the more cards of any one suit you hold, the better your chances. Dragon’s Hoard – five of a kind – is the highest scoring hand. The higher the card you hold, the higher the score. Pick up an Angel of Death card and well. I think that pretty much is self-explanatory.” Kathea accepted her ale from Norah, setting it to one side and double-checking the cards in her hand. “My advice to you is don’t bluff for anything less than a flush.”

Cullen grimaced. “And don’t show your hand to the woman sitting next to you.”

“There – you have already outdone half the players in this tavern.”

Their game was a casual one. Cullen stopped sitting rigidly in his seat after about fifteen minutes or so, eventually easing back against the wall behind him and crossing his arms over his chest in enjoyment. He watched her keenly, Hawke noted. For a man who had no idea what he had roped himself into, he was certainly playing the part well. A smile was never far from his lips and Cullen laughed more than once at her droll jokes.

Hawke on the other hand found that she had to keep constant vigil on her thoughts. If her true concerns were allowed to show, her whole game would be up – and there was far more at stake here than Wicked Grace. She crossed her ankles, bracing the heel of her boot against the foot of the table. Kathea figured if she could keep the tension up for another few minutes, the brooding elf – who was undoubtedly skulking about and fuming on the balcony above them – would be on the point of breaking by the time she finally made her move.

Flicking one thick curl over her shoulder, Hawke leaned forward, balancing her elbows against her knees. “Tell me, Cullen, what is it that Templars do for fun? I’ve always wondered.”

“I’m not quite sure what you mean.”

She flashed a conniving grin in his direction. “Oh I’m sure you do. After all it was you who alerted me to those young recruits sneaking out of the barracks at night. I’m sure they couldn’t have been the only ones.”

“Let me assure you, Hawke,” Cullen leaned his arm on the table then, calmly revealing four nines and an ace. “Every seasoned Templar knows that you don’t have to sneak out of the barracks to have fun,” he teased with a wink, “oh and uh, I believe I just won this round.”

“And... I believe you are right.” Kathea shook her head slightly. She was sure he knew she was losing deliberately by this point, but she wasn’t about to ask for confirmation. The gamble she was interested in wasn’t one involving cards. Setting aside her discarded hand, she sidled up closer to him on the bench. “You’ll have to forgive me Cullen. I’m a little distracted this evening. You see, I usually play for stakes,” she reached up to run a finger along her upturned fur collar, “ _much_ higher stakes.”

The Templar’s regarded her with relaxed composure. “How much higher exactly?”

 _Andraste save me – he already knows what I’m going to do._ Hawke schooled her features carefully, praying her cheeks wouldn’t choose this opportunity to betray her with an uncharacteristic blush. _Fenris, you had better be watching this._

Taking another deep breath, Kathea scooted so that she could drape one leather-clad thigh over his. Cullen tensed for a moment, and then she saw a strange, almost _hungry_ shadow fall across his gaze. She bit her lip when one of the Knight-Captain’s broad, calloused hands landed on her knee, creeping up the outside of her leg invitingly. Kathea gave him one of her most smouldering looks, two sets of fiercely gold eyes locking heatedly.

“Is this the part where I’m supposed to ‘enjoy myself’?” Cullen smirked, his words barely above a whisper.

Leaning in fractionally she warned, “If your fingers venture anywhere impolite, I will break them.”

“Noted,” Cullen breathed, his gaze drifting briefly to the balcony above. “He’s watching you. But I take it you already knew that.”

Kathea’s smile turned predatory. “Let him watch.” Then, with instinctual precision, she took the tip of Cullen’s chin between her fingers and captured his mouth in a searing kiss.

An audible gasp came from her friends on the floor above, but Kathea didn’t care. She was so _very_ farpast caring. Three years of inattention had ignited a strange fire within her, a fire that demanded to be satisfied no matter the cost. She had spent far too many nights alone, trying to find a way to satiate both her conscience and her desires – to no avail. Now she was just downright livid. Caution be damned. She would have fun for a few moments; Fenris could glare and growl all he liked. He was not the man whose lips she currently tasted.

Though, if her instincts were right, he soon would be.

For the moment at least, Cullen’s ‘act’ was surprisingly persuasive. And to her own astonishment, she found herself rather enjoying the attention. The Templar’s hands were so much broader than Fenris’. Palms rough from years of training slid across the soft suede of her vest, always careful to avoid touching her in any way that was less than respectful.

His lips, on the other hand, were being anything but chaste.

At first Hawke had been worried about Cullen’s reaction to her brazenness – would he push her away? Freeze up beneath her awkwardly? Insist on leaving? But now, as he deepened the contact between them, Kathea realised that her fears had been wholly unfounded. And to be completely honest, she found herself no longer caring if this was simply an act or not.

Cullen was a _superb_ kisser. He accepted her initiation with little more than a reflexive jolt. Then, as she had tilted her head just so and wrapped her arms about his neck, the curly-haired Templar had reciprocated with the softest of sighs. Cullen’s lips were not as rough as Hawke had expected. In fact, they were tantalisingly soft against the coarseness of his stubble. Now his lips began to move of their own accord, caressing hers enticingly. Kathea’s eyes fluttered shut when he angled his mouth across hers, pulling away momentarily before returning to brush their lips together torturously, hot breath feathering across her skin in lure of what lingered just beyond her reach.

“You’re... You’re enjoying this far _too_ much,” she hissed, blinking at him incredulously. “You didn’t tell me you were such a good kisser.”

“You didn’t ask,” he grinned, dipping his head in question.

Hawke vaguely recalled hearing a rather furious curse being spluttered in Tevinter between the chorus of cat-calls and rowdy hollers. But she didn’t pay Fenris’ outburst any heed. She was too intent on showing the cagey elf _exactly_ what he was missing.

“Care to up the stakes?” She prompted.

“You set the pace, Hawke,” Cullen returned huskily, wetting his lower lip, “I can keep up.”

Kathea wound her fingers in his thick hair, pulling him back into her with a low groan. She didn’t hold back this time. But even as she flicked her tongue against his lips demanding entrance, it wasn’t Cullen’s face she saw in her mind’s eye. It wasn’t his sighs that she heard, or his tongue that she felt tangling with hers. Instead, she imagined Fenris. She heard him growl, felt his strong fingers dig into her waist possessively. Kathea tried to wrangle her imagination back under control, but instead her distraction only served as a painful reminder of what she had lost – and of how pathetic she was.

_I can’t do this._

Cullen’s eyes were glassy when she broke the kiss. Hawke quickly checked herself, covering her sudden embarrassment with a mask of humorous nonchalance. Her friend, however, was not so quick to recover. His cheeks were flushed the most endearing shade of red. The glow seemed to continue right up to his hairline. Hawke chuckled, giving the Templar a quick slap on the knee.

“Thank you,” she whispered, climbing off his lap.

He blinked a few times, staring into nothingness. “Oh. Uh, well.” He rubbed the back of his neck and stood, perhaps a little unsteadily. After a moment he worked up the courage to look her in the eye. “May I walk you back to your estate?”

Kathea accepted with a nod. “Why thank you, Cullen. I’m glad that there are still some respectable men left in Kirkwall.”

Linking her arm through his, Hawke shot an impish grin over her shoulder at her friends. Isabela raised her glass, Varric waved and Anders looked away with a slight shake of his head. But it was Fenris’ reaction that Kathea searched for.

Only, much to her chagrin, the elf was not there.

Disappointment roiled within her.

_Damn it all, Fenris._

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m sorry for using you like that.”

The moon cast an eerie blue glow on Kathea’s skin as she peered nervously up at the tall Templar walking alongside her.

Cullen chuckled, his eyes sweeping across the vacant courtyard of Hightown’s market. “I would say I didn’t enjoy it, but I would be lying.”

“Knight Captain, you astonish me.” Hawke shook her head as they turned the corner toward her family estate. “Such words coming from one of Kirkwall’s most respected Templars? Hush or people will talk.”

“I’m hardly made of stone, Hawke.” He laughed out loud then, shaking his head. “I’m still not entirely certain what it was you wished to achieve, but whatever – or whoever – that was for, I owe them my thanks.”

The rogue sobered at that, slowing to a trudging pace and kicking at a stray pebble. “I wish I could say that it was a motive worth being thankful for.” She looked down at the cobblestones, shrugging dismissively. “In truth, Cullen, I am sorry. I was being impetuous, foolish. My mother is always trying to remind me to act like a lady, and tonight of all nights I should have taken her advice. But the truth is... The truth is...” The words caught in her throat and she lifted her eyes to the sky, taking in the array of glinting stars past the silhouettes of Hightown’s grand edifices. “The truth is that I used you, abused your reputation and your good word, all because the man I truly care for won’t look at me twice.”

They walked on in silence for a minute or so, pausing only once they reached the Hawke estate.

Cullen leaned against the front entrance, studying her face sympathetically. “I won’t say that I understand how that feels,” he murmured, “because I do not. The woman I loved did not choose to leave me. But... But I do know how it feels to be alone. And to grieve for the loss of what might have been.”

Hawke glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “I’m sorry for using you.”

“Don’t be.” The Knight-Captain folded his arms and smiled pensively. “This... This might sound strange, considering the nature of our relationship this far, but... But I do consider you a friend, Hawke. And I would hope that perhaps you consider me one as well.”

Kathea smiled openly at that. “Do you mean to tell me that you can still look me in the eye after my behaviour tonight?”

“Apparently,” Cullen admitted, putting in a valiant effort not to look too sheepish. “Though I am sure a few of my colleagues will not be able to do the same. And... And I might have to stay clear of your sister for a few days.”

“Bethany respects you. She has always spoken highly of you and I see no reason why she would change her mind now.” Then another thought occurred. “Will this cause trouble for you? With Meredith?”

He shook his head. “She has no grounds to discipline a templar for fraternizing with an upstanding citizen of Kirkwall.” After a moment Cullen nodded behind her, adding quietly, “but it seems you could be facing an interesting situation of your own.”

Kathea didn’t turn around. She could feel Fenris’ piercing eyes drilling into her even from here. “Let’s just say that he needed a reminder that I’m not some trinket to be kept locked in a glass case.”

“If you ever need my assistance, you know where to find me.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”  

Cullen stood and took her hand, bowing respectfully. “Well then, Champion, I ought to bid you goodnight. I have to return to the Gallows early in the morning.”

“Safe travels, Ser Cullen.”

“And you, Serrah Hawke.”

Even once he had departed, Kathea didn’t go inside just yet. She lingered on the porch of the mansion, waiting until the Templar’s silhouette had rounded the corner and disappeared out of sight. Her eyes instinctively turned toward the vine-covered archway in the centre of the square, but there was no sign of the silver-haired elf.

 _Great job, idiot,_ she scorned herself, forcing a smile to conceal her pain. It was a hollow smile – a fragile mask. Most of her smiles were these days.

How ironic. The Champion of Kirkwall, one of the most respected and admired women in all of Kirkwall, couldn’t even convince a man to share her bed. Was it her pale complexion? Her wild hair? Her intimidating reputation? She berated herself silently for being so shallow. But after three years of questions, equivocation and neglect it was becoming nearly impossible to view herself positively. Her patience had meant nothing to Fenris, and now it seemed her small insurrection had no effect either. She was acutely aware of her own desires, and she wanted so much more than a one-night stand. No, what Kathea wanted was the one thing in this city it seemed she could not have. Hawke had made the mistake of forgetting one important lesson: what she wanted didn’t matter. Not to Kirkwall, not to Meredith, and certainly not to Fenris. She was Hawke after all. She was meant to be strong, to be the people’s Champion. Her own wants came second to whatever demands and expectations the world had of her.

Kathea heaved an aggrieved sigh, empty regrets weighing down upon her shoulders and dragging her down until she was sitting cross-legged on the front steps. Bitter disappointment rose up in her throat like acrid bile, choking her. Forcing back tears, she sought out her favourite star and focused on its flickering gold light.

“Well, I guess I’m alone again.”

**Author's Note:**

> The sequel has arrived: [Just Out Of Reach](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3954097/chapters/8865919)


End file.
